


A Beautiful Goodbye

by blondae_pinkdae



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Best Friends, Character Death, Childhood Friends, EXO - Freeform, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kim Jongdae - Freeform, Kim Jongdae | Chen & Kim Minseok | Xiumin are Best Friends, M/M, One Shot, Platonic Soulmates, Sad Ending, Soulmates, XiuChen - Freeform, friends to strangers, kim minseok - Freeform, mention of EXO - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 02:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19758343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondae_pinkdae/pseuds/blondae_pinkdae
Summary: what i really wanted to tell you was i'm sorry.





	1. a beautiful goodbye.

_Jongdae,_

_I decided to write to anyone I could possibly think of, to as many people as I could bring myself to write to until my fingers ache with exhaustion. Yet, of all the people I could have chosen amongst the many people who have come to love me, and the ones who I have come to love, I could only think of you. A person who has spent the last five or six years, perhaps longer, engaging in a life so glamorous and fulfilling that you seem to have forgotten those you left behind. Including me, your lifelong best friend._

_In times of great sadness, and moments of mind-boggling uncertainty, I wondered how your smile has changed, if it has changed at all. Do your eyebrows still slant upward? Do they crinkle in the same manner that they always have? Have you finally learned that a smile isn’t a smile unless it’s beaming from the eyes? Part of you must have always known that, at least deep down in your soul, because you had always been a happy child—completely and utterly content while parading around in the thick summer air that nearly suffocated us several years in a row. Or perhaps you knew how to smile because we were friends. Our lives were tangled so thoroughly that we both knew it would make for more of a chore to try to twist and yank and pull at the thread, which would only further make it impossible to separate. We were inseparable, weren’t we? Whatever happened to those rambunctious teens? What happened to_ us _?_

 _I couldn’t believe that so much happened in the time that you’ve been away. Or rather, how quickly time has come to pass. I don’t know where you are or how you’re doing, but I know you’re out there living a life that you desperately wanted to lead. From what I have gleaned, you’ve made a wonderful life for yourself. Tragically successful and your days filled with endless smiles and laughter as you are surrounded by the friends you have made in the industry over the years. A_ solo _album. It’s everything you ever wanted for yourself, and I knew that you could make it to this point, whether it was with or without me. I have come to accept the brutal and honest truth that you have forgotten me, and I’m okay with that. Even if we had the opportunity to rewind the clock, I wouldn’t change a thing. I would do everything down to the scrapes and bruises that we gave one another in one of our many fights. I would be okay with it all if it meant guaranteeing that you wouldn’t get to see the man I have become. I would be okay with it all if it meant you would get to live this elegant life once more, and to live as carefree and spontaneously as you always have. You would want that too, right, Dae?_

_I’ve spent hours, days, months, years, wondering how our lives might have turned out differently if you hadn’t left. Would we be visiting the playground where we nearly broke our arms and legs after jumping off of the swings from immeasurable heights? Would we have attended the same university? Would you have kept singing regardless of the fact that you chose not to pursue that career path? Perhaps there is an alternative universe where those very versions of ourselves hold the answers to the arsenal of questions that have metastasized into a mountain as tall as Mount Everest. Perhaps they also know whether or not you finally got it through that dense brain of yours that I was and always have been in love with you._

_And this time I can’t include the phrase, “No homo,” because that would be a lie—it’s always been a lie._

_You’re probably wondering when I figured it out. It was when you were nineteen years old, I had just turned twenty-two. We had gone out of our way to make it to the coast for the Winter Solstice festival—the same one that our parents used to take us to when we were much younger. We had spent the greater majority of the evening walking from booth to booth, playing mindless and effortless games, eating some of the worst and best food we had ever tried, and watching as the fireworks glistened as they reflected off of the water. After a tiring evening—filled with so much of your laughter I can still hear it if I close my eyes—we packed ourselves onto the next bus home. You had fallen asleep first, you always fall asleep first. It was then, in between the steady and sleep-enriched breaths, I realized that I was in love with my best friend. And I could never bring myself to tell you out of fear that you would have left and never came back. Little did I know that you would end up leaving and never coming back for a reason that was beyond my control and imagination._

_I almost wish I would have told you. At least I would have known your reason for leaving and never calling me again, for never visiting me every other day, for never stopping into the cafe that I worked at during your breaks, for cutting me off like our friendship was nothing. I will never be able to understand and comprehend a probable reason for why you left everything behind—left it all for dust. Even if you returned, you probably wouldn’t be able to recognize any of it. Not this town; not the stores; not the restaurants; not me; probably not even yourself._

_But it seems that I have come to the end of the road._ We _have come to the end of the road. Haven’t we, Chen?_

_No one can rewrite the destiny that has been written in the stars, and this ending is ours. We lived, laughed, fought, and most importantly, we loved in the way that best friends do._

_I lived this life knowing that this day would come. A day where you and I would have to go our own separate ways, and even though we’ve done it once already, this shall be the last time we come together, only to part ways in the end. We have spent that last two decades trying to detangle the threads that linked us to one another; a bright, dazzling, ruby red thread that was hard to ignore. We tried for as long as I can remember to unravel those threads...It seems that life works in mysterious ways and has found a way for us to part peacefully without having to meet face to face. It would be more cruel that way. I’ll let you decide if it’s more cruel to you or to me after you’ve read the contents of this letter._

_I don’t want you to pity me for loving you in your shadow. Loving you in secret. It saved me as much as it killed me. You deserved to know, and even though this was never the way I imagined the truth to surface, it’s the only way I can offer it—and I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry for not telling you the truth sooner. The_ whole _truth. I know you’ll curse and scream when you see this, maybe even when you come to see me—which I know you will—but I’ll never regret telling you this way._

_Kim Jongdae._

_If you are reading this...if you even brought yourself to read to this point, if you read this at all...it means that I have already died. It means that my secretary did as I asked by forwarding this letter along to you the minute I took my last breath._

_I want you to know that everything that happened has happened at the mercy of this unforgiving universe. There was nothing to be done. A time finally came where no doctor, not even the most talented one of our day and age, could buy me more time than I was allotted. I have lived with no regrets other than keeping this simple truth from you. I wanted to take it with me to the grave, for you to find out in your own way at a time that was convenient for_ you _, because any time I tried to reach out to you for_ anything _...it was never opportune for you._

_I thought I was just having migraines—you know that I was always prone to them—until I passed out in broad daylight as I was walking to my car several years back. I thought I was dehydrated, maybe I wasn’t eating enough. I was going through a phase in my life where I was fasting every other day and I assumed that the lack of nutrients had finally caught up to me._

_Until I started forgetting things._

_Until I could no longer drive myself to work because I was having a hard time seeing out of my left eye._

_Until I could no longer sleep properly._

_It wasn’t until my first seizure that I was dragged in by the hair by my secretary for an MRI._

_And then the results came back._

_I was scared; even more than the time our mothers caught us stealing one of their cars in the middle of a family event so that we could go to the internet cafe. I was scared of dying, of living in a dark oblivion without my best friend. It was the reason why I desperately reached out to you nearly three years after you left. I called for what felt like months. I was in a panic and the one person who I trusted with everything and anything couldn’t even bother to give me the time of day. I slowly stopped calling and quickly received treatments. I was growing weaker and stronger each and every day. My mental shields were impenetrable, but my body and mind were deteriorating at a rate much faster than the doctors could anticipate. Their efforts to keep up were desperate and they were optimistic until the very end._

_The tumor was too far along. There was nothing they could do to keep it from growing, from spreading. The treatment options had only helped for a short while, until my body stopped responding to them._

_The minute the words were out in the open, I knew my time had come. I was still very much alive, but it felt like I was nothing more than a shell of a person pretending that everything was fine. Until it wasn’t._

_This life of mine was coming to an end, spiraling down and down and down, and yet, I spent the greater majority of my time thinking about the aforementioned memories (and much more) from the former part of this letter. Thinking back on everything, the good and the bad, brought tears to my eyes. For a split moment, I wanted to beg and pray to whatever higher power would listen for more time. I wanted nothing more than anything in the world to see you at least one last time, and I wished and hoped and prayed that I would be granted that mercy. I wanted to tell you everything. I wanted to tell you that I was proud of you. I wanted to tell you how much I loved you, with how much of my heart and soul I loved you. I wanted to tell you about what had happened to me...but I ran out of time, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I couldn’t stick around long enough to tell you everything that I needed to get off of my chest. You deserved to know, whether it was prior to or after my death. I knew better than anyone that you deserved to know._

_For the first time in our short lives, this isn’t a_ see you later _. For the first and last time, it's goodbye._

_A beautiful one, if you ask me._

_Always,_

_Kim Minseok_


	2. i'll be there.

_ Kim Minseok, _

_ It’s one in the morning. I woke up crying again, or maybe I was sweating, because I saw you. Every night for so long I’ve been seeing you in my dreams. I wouldn’t call them nightmares, solely because I can’t say that I was scared. Seeing you walk towards me with your arms wide open could never scare me, and yet I wake up in a panic—gasping for breath, my heart thundering in my chest as sweat drips down my neck. Does that make these dreams nightmares? Can I even call them dreams when everything I see elicits such agonizing pain? I never thought I’d be writing to you like this; yet, I’m sure you hadn’t imagined confessing your secrets to me in the way you had either. You were brave, braver than I ever have been, and somehow I wasted all of the time that I thought I had to spend with you. My best friend. The man who loved me regardless of my flaws, who loved me regardless of the internal clock that incessantly ticked, marking the weeks, days, and the hours that you had left. You must have suffered a lot, and I was nowhere to be seen. I wasn’t even within earshot of your desperate cries for help, for comfort, for companionship. I let you down, and I’m sorry. I don’t think there are enough words in this world to describe how sorry I am.  _

_ This is what it must feel like to be too late. It’s times like this where I wish time machines were tangible ideas, and that an alternative universe was nothing more than another place that you could walk into by passing through any door. As if my life depended on it, I would run, and run, and run, until I found the nearest reality that would allow me to collapse at your feet. I’d beg. I’d beg to anything, to anyone, for the first time in my life, to see you stand in front of me one last time. Would you let me embrace you if I had the chance? Would you forgive me? I know you would, because you had always been the kinder half of our shared soul. Yet, I hope if we meet again one day that you would drown that undeserved forgiveness that might linger in your still heart.  _

_ I spent these fleeting years pass as if someone were mindlessly flipping through the pages of a magazine—the same kind we used to make fun of whenever our mothers would get them in the mail. I was careless, completely oblivious to how you might have been fairing all on your own. I heard from your parents, and mine, that you grew into someone much greater than you once were. From what I gathered, the Kim Minseok I left, standing on the front porch, some time ago, was not the same Minseok that I’m staring at now. The way your gums would peak through the lines of your thin lips whenever you smiled that shy smile, or the way you’d rub your right arm whenever you felt uncomfortable, or how you’d run your fingers through your hair whenever you were stressed. I want that Minseok, I want  _ you _. Not the solid granite engraved headstone that is embedded in the half-dead grass of this lonesome cemetery.  _

_ You should have pushed, and shoved, and cried, and cursed until you got my attention. You should have run the risk of annoying the hell out of me, even if I was busy with work. You should have done everything you could to tell me. To tell me that you were sick. To tell me that you were  _ dying _. To tell me, and scream from the highest mountains known to man, that you loved me. But I guess you did. Didn’t you? You did everything you could, said everything you could, tried over and over again to get my attention, and I didn’t even sense the bait whatsoever. It hadn’t even been on my radar. Now, as I write this, I can’t help but feel ashamed that you called me your friend—your best friend—even in the end. I let our friendship fester and rot until I believed there was nothing left, and for what? The relief I felt whenever I saw those commas in my bank account? I basked in the limelight that cast a shadow over the real Kim Jongdae, a shadow named Chen. A young man who thought he had it all: fame, fortune, respect, admiration. He had all of those things and more, but at what cost? I spent my entire career believing that I had lost you, that I had pushed you over the edge of my old life, and just when I found myself searching my soul for even a glimmer of the Jongdae you spoke so highly of, your letter showed up at my doorstep. I thought it was fate, that life was going to give me a chance to embrace everything I lost along the way. But I  _ actually  _ lost you. No metaphors. No hypotheticals. There’s nothing more concrete than the headstone that bears your name.  _

_ The pain I felt was destructive. Your letter demolished any and all hope that has been revived deep in my heart. The weeks after your letter arrived were knitted so tightly together that I feared it had all been one excruciatingly long day. Until our mothers showed up at my house to pick me up for the funeral. How could time pass so quickly and so slowly all at once? I remember my mother dragging me out of the house with little to no effort, that’s how dead I felt deep inside. One minute we were standing on the porch and the next I was knee-deep in the fresh dirt where your casket had been lowered. After the ceremony, I sat there for  _ hours _. I could have sat there for days, it sure felt that way, until your father steered me out of the cemetery, and drove me to your house. Your parents let me sleep in your room. It took every last ounce of strength I had left to push the door open to that cold and lifeless room. The minute I crossed the threshold into that bedroom, one that had been marked by so many milestones and memories, I lost it. I cried, sobbed uncontrollably, until I could no longer produce sound, until not being able to breathe was unbearable, until deep breaths became agonizing screams, until I had passed out from the physical and mental strain that I inflicted upon myself.  _

_ That was one year ago. It’s been a whole year since I received that life altering letter in the mail. We shared—share—a soul, and even though I’m still breathing and kicking and walking, it feels like a farce. It feels like I’ve been walking through an endless desert, searching and scanning for any sign of you, but the minute I think I see you, you turn your back and vanish. My belief in your presence around me is like an oasis. I mindlessly travel through time and space, hoping that if I keep walking, you’ll appear and grant the solace that I’ve been craving. Yet, whenever I get close enough to touch you, you disappear, as if there was nothing there to begin with. My fingers crave the warmth of your gentle skin, and my arms ache to embrace you. How long has it been since I’ve done so?  _

_ As painful as it was for her, your mother retraced her steps and walked me through your silent suffering. She described in detail the stages in which your body collapsed right under you, and the way that your life was ripped from your clutches. She noted the waves of bad and better days. You never wanted to speak about the negatives, the way that your illness was affecting you, but she could see past that wall that you put up between yourself and everyone else. Your mind can not speak without the assistance of your body, and that’s precisely how she knew what you were truly feeling; how you silently suffered while rejecting her help. She had photos. Tens and hundreds of photos logging your degression. As the days passed you grew paler and paler. I was genuinely surprised that a person could have features that were so stark and prominent in the same way you had. You let your anger and sadness and fear eat you up inside, didn’t you? Even as a young boy, you didn’t want anyone to know that something was wrong. If you had fallen ill with a fever, no one knew until your body showed signs of caving. When you broke your arm, it wasn’t until your wrist had turned purple that I knew something was wrong. You wanted to handle everything on your own, in your own way, in due time.  _

_ And now I’m sitting in front of your dew covered headstone, regretting each and every decision I made in the last eight years. How different would things be if I would have just answered your calls? Responded to your letters. Text messages. E-mails. Where would we be?  _ Who  _ would we be? Would we be together on a red carpet somewhere? Would you have gotten sick? Life suddenly feels like a battle between the what-ifs and the what-could-have-beens, and I’m stuck between them begging and pleading for mercy.  _

_ Please don’t say goodbye. Not like this. How could this ever be considered a goodbye? Not when I still have so much to say, when I still had so many things I wanted to do...with you. You said goodbye like we’re never going to meet again. If there is a heaven, if there is an afterlife, aren’t you reunited with those you love? When my life runs its course, will I get to see you standing at those gates? Or will you abandon me in death too?  _

_ If it’s true, that we die and are reborn, I could only hope that I’ll meet you once more so that I can remedy the mistakes I made this time around. Please wait for me until then, I’ll do whatever I can to make you proud, and blossom into someone who you can truly be proud to love.  _

_ Until then, help guide me and watch over me as I learn and take steps closer to you. _

_ This isn’t goodbye. One day, I’ll be there.  _

_ Kim Jongdae. _


	3. one year ago.

_ [One Year Ago] _

“Alright, why don’t we call it a day?”

Jongdae’s legs gave out from under him at the glorious words that left the choreographer’s mouth. They had been working non-stop all day on the revised choreography for the short installment of their upcoming tour; the days were long and unforgiving, and all he craved was the sweet solace of his mattress. It was taking them a lot longer to learn and readapt to the pace and steps, longer than any of them initially expected. He briefly glance at his watch, which read a quarter past ten. A chorus of relieved groans and moans echoed throughout the practice room at the announcement of their official release for the night.

He heard the familiar screeching of Baekhyun’s shoes tearing for the door, “I’m out fuckers! See you in the morning!”

And then he was gone. Some of the other members trickled out just as quickly before Jongdae could even take a deep breath. 

“Good work today, Jongdae,” the choreographer shouted back to him as he stepped through the threshold of the door, waving goodbye. 

Jongdae stood, gathered his belongings that were pushed up against the wall, and started to make the trek due west towards home. He didn’t feel like taking a cab or taking one of the company’s private cars. An uncomfortable itch of restlessness seeped deep down into his bones, so he decided that the crisp air of the metropolitan city would do him some good. It’s not like his apartment was far or anything. The irritable restlessness made him feel overwhelmed. They had been working so hard for the last several months and yet they were still making mistakes. There was never a single day where all of them were on the same wavelength. Someone was always preoccupied with something else—their mind in a far off place, away from the work that demanded their utmost attention. The music industry has always been one that would wait for no one. It was the most valuable life lesson that had been taught to him during his time with his members. Time is precious and non-refundable, once it’s gone, there’s no way of getting it back. 

Each time a car zoomed past him, a second went by. When the cars would stack up at a red light, several minutes would tick away from the life that passed him by. It was important to him that he savor the life he was currently leading while he still could, because in five years, or ten, perhaps he wouldn’t be as fortune to perform on stages as grand as the ones he had experienced over the years. 

A chill crept up his spine as he eyed his private apartment building. They were at the tail end of winter and the cold refused to relinquish itself to spring. He walked as quickly as he could manage with his stiff muscles until he was strolling through the comfortable lobby up and into his apartment. The first thing he noticed when he walked into the small living space was the mountainous pile of letters that sat atop the coffee table in the middle of the room. He figured his manager or personal assistant had stopped by to drop off all of the fan letters that came through at the post office. As much as he wanted to sort through the letters and the gifts, his body was seconds away from collapsing due to exhaustion. Instead, he dragged himself into the kitchen, where he knew the mail that actually needed to be attended to would be. From afar, he noticed that there wasn’t a ton of important mail; thus, hardly bothering to deal with it right then and there. If anything, the prospects of a shower was sounding mighty appealing to him. 

He bypassed the mail and made a b-line for his room, tearing away clothes bit by bit as he sauntered into the bathroom. He pulled the handle of the shower temperature controls to warm and turned away, giving the water a moment to heat up. He caught his reflection in the large vanity mirror, and to say that he looked exhausted was an understatement. There were heavy purple-gray bags under his eyes, which drooped at the pleasant and delectable idea of sleep. Now that the adrenaline in his system had calmed slightly, he could feel the pressure from the aches and pains that were starting to settle deep in the muscles of his calves. He was so  _ tired _ and wanted nothing more than to take a step back and reset everything back to a time when resting and being lazy was a normalized aspect of his daily routine. He was tired of the twelve hour practices, the strict diets, the lack of contact between him and his family. He couldn’t even recall the last time he spoke with his mother or father. If either of them could see him now, would they be excited for their successful son? Or would they be disappointed with his lack of filial piety? 

He supposed that might have always been the reason why Minseok was always their favorite, even though he wasn’t their biological child. 

Minseok. It was a name that Jongdae had been turning over and over in his head for the last month. The number of times that he attempted to hit the call button on his phone was laughable. Minseok was supposed to be his best through through in through, and yet, he couldn’t even manage to make a simple call to him. He felt ashamed. Embarrassed. They hadn’t talked in nearly ten years, and he knew it was all because of him. His overbearing pride refused to drag Minseok into a limelight that he might not even want. The last thing he wanted was for the press and paparazzi to find out about the one person who made him feel...normal. In Minseok’s mind, there was no special treatment. No exemptions. No allowances. Everyone was one and the same, whether a person was homeless or a celebrity. He always gave everyone equal opportunity to just be themselves. It always has been Minseok’s greatest quality, one that he attempted adopting several times. Somehow it always managed to fall through; Jongdae was the first to admit that he could be selfish and could be prejudiced, as much as he hated that hidden aspect of his personality. 

Jongdae stepped into the shower and let the hot water and steam wash away the aggressive thoughts. He didn’t so much as flinch when the burning water made contact with his aching skin. 

Even when he wasn’t at work, he was thinking about it; going over each and every song that they’ve been preparing. He hummed along to the tunes that shuffled in his head, and the sound ricocheted off the walls which made him feel like he was performing in a stadium. If he closed his eyes long enough, he could believe that he was. 

After stepping out of the shower, Jongdae dried himself and threw on a pair of lounging shorts, and trekked back into the kitchen. Although he was hungry after burning off all of his energy from the day, he couldn’t bring himself to cook anything up. Instead, he browsed the contents of his mail that was left sitting on the counter. Bills. Magazines. Documents from the company. He was about ready to toss it all to the side when the achingly familiar sight of an icy blue envelope caught his eye. His heart stopped, he hoped that it was nothing more than the exhaustion finally catching up to him, playing terrible tricks on his mind. But the longer he stared at it, the more vibrant it became, the more it stuck out those a sore thumb. Jongdae pushed past all of the urgent documents and fumbled with the letter. He ran his fingers across the ridges of Minseok’s handwriting. It was neat and tidy, all the while somewhat messy, which has always been unlike Minseok. It was the first letter he had received from him in nearly four years. It wasn’t so much the letter that stirred his well of anxiety, but rather the reason as to why a new letter has surfaced after so many years.

His pulse echoed in his ears, drowning out the sound of the ticking clock set on the wall just above him. 

Minseok was— _ is _ —his best friend. Seeing his name, even just the mere conceivable thought of communicating with him, shouldn’t elicit what felt like the equivalent to a panic attack, but it did. Jongdae had been a terrible friend to him over the years. Insisting that he’d call back when he never had the time; promised to write letters and visit whenever they had free time; yet, his promises always fell through. The shame he felt was heart wrenching. The hurt that Minseok surely must have felt weighed on him like an overbearing load. He tore away at the lip of the thick envelope and pulled the folded pages from the sleeve. It had been nearly ten years since they had seen each other face to face, but no matter how much time passed, Jongdae would always be able to recognize the subtle scent of Minseok’s cologne. It wafted in the air around him as he carefully unveiled Minseok’s delicate handwriting. 

_ Kim Jongdae… _

Jongdae took a deep breath. A vague stinging sensation burned the corners of his eyes at the way Minseok’s hands formed his name. He mustered whatever courage and strength he had left and forced his eyes to scan and read. He read it once. Then twice. And then a third, fourth, and fifth time. No matter how many times he read the letter’s contents, the words didn’t change. The reason  _ why _ Minseok wrote to him after so many years didn’t vanish. 

_ If you are reading this...if you even brought yourself to read to this point, if you read this at all...it means that I have already died. It means that my secretary did as I asked by forwarding this letter along to you the minute I took my last breath.  _

Minseok. His best friend of twenty years. Dead. 

An overwhelming sense of panic rose in his chest as the papers slipped from his fingertips and onto the cold hardwood floor. Jongdae was vaguely aware that the world around him was slipping away as the anxiety and panic was in the process of swallowing him whole. His shoulders and chest ached as they trembled with agonizing sadness. He sank to his knees until he heard and felt the crumpling of paper against his skin, and then he lost it. 

His body didn’t feel like his own, as if something stormed in and took him by the reigns. His trembling hands sank deep into his hair and he pulled and yanked at it as hard as he could. The physical pain was nothing in comparison to the mind numbing pain that didn’t hesitate in taking its time to settle. He released the death grip on his locks and slammed his fist  _ hard _ into the side of the wall. A series of moan-like sobs were wretched from his throat. 

He hadn’t considered the possibility of outliving Minseok. Jongdae was sure that his celebrity status, or rather the emotional and physical stress that weighed him down because of said status, was going to do him in before Minseok could even reach the age of forty. But for as long as he could remember, Minseok always had to have the last word in everything. He had the last word four years ago, and a day like today would be no different. 

Jongdae forced himself back onto his feet and rushed back into his bedroom, urgently hunting for his phone. His eyes scanned and panned across the room once, then twice, until his eyes found the phone sitting atop the dresser. When he finally managed to punch in his passcode, he went straight for his speed dial menu; Minseok had always been in the first slot. 

He didn’t waste any time attempting to phone Minseok as he pulled the device to his ear. 

“ _ We’re sorry, but your call cannot be completed as dialed, please hang up and try again _ .”

Jongdae could feel the way his brows knitted with confusion and tried again.

“ _ We’re sorry— _ ”

He tried over and over, desperately hoping that the call would go through at least once. He was seconds from nearly giving up before he decided to switch up his strategy. He hit the dial button of the next person on his list and pressed the phone up against his ear. It felt like years passed until he heard the familiar click of someone answering on the receiving end. 

“Jongdae? It’s late, is everything alright?”

His bottom lip trembled as a tear slid from the corner of his eye, “Mom…”

There was some brief shuffling, which he assumed was her pushing away the blankets and moving from her bedroom and into the living room, “What is it, Dae?”

“Mom…” Jongdae’s breathed, “Where—where is Minseok?”

His mother was silent for a moment too long, and Jongdae was sure that his heart had stopped in his chest. 

“Honey—”

“ _ Where is he _ ? Why isn’t he answering his phone?”

“It’s been a long time since you’ve even mentioned Minseok’s name,” his mother sighed, “He was always waiting for you to call.”

_ Was. _

“Tell me it’s not true,” Jongdae begged, “Tell me that this is all a horrible nightmare and that I’m going to wake up any minute now.”

The back of Jongdae’s knees collided with the cold material of his bed. Everything felt too real for any of it to be a dream. One minute his heart felt completely and utterly still, and the next it felt like it was seconds from beating out of his chest. Deep breath after deep breath quickly evolved into shallow hyperventilation. 

“Jongdae,” his mother whispered, “What happened?”

A choked sob echoed around the room. It took him a lot longer to regain his composure than he cared to admit, but when he felt calm enough he pressed the phone back to his ear, “How could he do this to me? He had the audacity to wait until he was already dead to tell me. He was supposed to be my best friend, Mom...so, how could he keep this from me?”

“I understand that you’re hurt, Dae, but Minseok did what he felt was right for not only you, but himself.”

“You knew...you knew and even  _ you _ didn’t tell me.”

“It wasn’t my truth to tell…”

Jongdae groaned with frustration, “I’m your son, didn’t you take how I would feel into consideration?”

“Yes, you are my son, but Minseok was as much my son as you are,” his mother admitted, “And if this is how he wanted to tell you...then I don’t know what to say. He suffered quietly for  _ years _ , I didn’t find out until it was already too late. What pained me the most was that all he wanted was to hear from you. I told him,  _ countless  _ times, to try and reach out to you again, but he let his pride get in the way. It crushed me to see him like that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He was angry. Something more than angry. He couldn’t believe that his own mother hid something so important from him, regardless of Minseok’s wishes. “Why couldn’t you have at least told me that he wanted to talk?”

“Would it have made any difference?” The question was like a knife in the back, “Minseok reached out to you so many times over the years that I completely lost track of the number of times he attempted to call you, text you, write to you...and what did he receive as a response? Nothing. Absolute silence. I couldn’t believe it. Why do you think I stopped calling? Why do you think I stopped checking in? If you could reach out to me, you could have reached out to your best friend, at the very least. Even if it was just a quick hello...I’m sure that would have been enough for him. Acknowledgement that his efforts weren’t ignored or forgotten. And now, you regret all of the choices you’ve made because the damage is done now.”

The words were like a slap across the face. It felt like he had the wind knocked out of him as he hung up the phone without saying goodbye. He knew that she was right. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how lonely Minseok felt in his failed attempts to recover from the fatal illness that was ravaging his body at a rate he couldn’t control. What made everything even more heart wrenching was the fact that Minseok loved him.  _ Actually _ and truly loved him. 

_ Perhaps there is an alternative universe where those very versions of ourselves hold the answers to the arsenal of questions that have metastasized into a mountain as tall as Mount Everest. Perhaps they also know whether or not you finally got it through that dense brain of yours that I was and always have been in love with you. _

Minseok had been in love with him for a long time, a time long before his debut, and loved him until his last breath. Jongdae felt sick to his stomach. He felt angry and embarrassed. Embarrassed for not realizing it sooner, for being so dense and oblivious to absolutely  _ everything _ . However, everything suddenly made sense. He recalled the various care packages he received during his trainee period, which were stock piled with everything he loved and more. Minseok always took the time and care to ensure that he was being fed properly and that someone was always there to look after him. Little did he know that it was really Minseok who needed someone to be looking after him. 

He had taken it all for granted, from the late night phone calls he was always too tired to answer, down to the very last pen stroke of Minseok’s letters. 

_ For the first time in our short lives, this isn’t a see you later. For the first and last time, it's goodbye.  _

Goodbye. 

Jongdae slowly slipped down from the mattress onto the rough carpet. He felt completely and utterly empty; whatever emotions he figured he was supposed to be feeling were far from this room. He was too late. For everything. He had lost every chance he could to remedy the cherished friendship he’d lost all on his own. He had lost his chance to take care of Minseok during his time of need; had lost his chance to admit that he was at fault; had lost his chance to be the friend he should have been; and had lost his chance to admit that Minseok’s love wasn’t one-sided. It took leaving home for Jongdae to realize that he couldn’t live his life without Minseok, but the thought of having to leave him behind scared him more than the idea of confessing. He could be the first to admit that he was a coward, but he’d never be able to say it to Minseok’s face. Not now, not anymore. 

“Minseok, you bastard,” Jongdae cursed, “This isn’t how things were supposed to end between us.”

It was then that he allowed the tears to flow freely without holding anything back, until his eyelids were heavy and swollen with exhaustion. He didn’t even care that he had collapsed onto the floor. 

That’s where he would sleep...

“I’m sorry, Min…” Jongdae croaked, “I’m sorry.”

Because anything was more comfortable than that thought of his best friend resting six feet deep under a heavy pile of grass and dirt.


End file.
